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"I do a lot for Brant. For you. For BSX."
She rolled her eyes. "You keep a secret. Don't blow it into a monumental feat, dear."
"I need something in return. From you."
"And that is?" She stood up from her chair and moved to the coffee station built into the left side of the room. The pot was full, and she lifted two dark green coffee mugs from hooks on the underside of the cabinet.
"I need to know how many men..." I glanced at the closed door and lowered my voice, just in case Chad was in the hall. "How many men Brant is or has…”—I tried to find the right word to use in case someone was listening—“been in contact with. If there’s only one. What the possibilities are for more."
She returned the pot to the machine and added cream and sweetener to both cups. It was funny that our coffee preferences were the same, given all the ways we differed. As my question hung in the air, she took her time, stirring each, then tapping the stick and dropping it into the small trash bin.
By the time she turned to me, both mugs in hand, her forehead was creased in thought. She nodded for me to close the door, then took the soft chair beside me. "Do you plan on justifying more affairs, Layana? Going to cheat on Brant with a handful of men?" She passed me a cup, then blew gently on hers. "You're not talented or sane enough for that. Trust me on that. No one is."
"Just answer the question. Please." I couldn't shed my manners; they lay on my skin like grease that only smeared when attempts were made to wash it off.
She sighed. “There’s just one right now. There were some others in the past, but they have all left or died, who knows. That's why I tried to warn you before. This part of Brant’s life… you need to forget it. Ignore it. Focus on building, on strengthening your relationship with him, and forget about anything or anyone else."
"How long did the others last? The other boys?" I was terrified of the answer and moved off the arm and into the chair, sinking into the soft cushioned seat.
She lifted one thin shoulder in a shrug. "It's hard to say. They don't exactly speak to me. I would guess two to three years on average, some as long as five. And Layana?"
I met her eyes.
"A couple of them have been... ugly. Violent. You can't save them all. You snagged one, congratulations. Don't get cocky and think that the next boy will be the same. The next boy is just as likely to bend you over and rape your ass."
“The boy from last night—Lee?” She cleared her throat. “You should probably know that I’m having him followed. We’ll step in if he gets out of line or into any trouble.”
At this point, nothing surprised me. I couldn’t imagine the circus that Jillian orchestrated behind the scenes of our lives.
I felt sick, the crude words rolling off her tongue as jarring as the image that accompanied them. I imagined all of the possibilities, all of the unthinkable things I had never considered, my life too clean to know true depravity.
"It'd probably be best, at this time, for you to either walk away or put your big girl panties on. You need to make a decision. You either love Brant despite this, or you don't. How much do you love him?"
The room refocused on her words, her challenge. I closed my eyes and pictured Brant's face. The man behind the brilliance. The man who I loved in a way I didn't think was possible. The man who I would fight for, would lie and cheat and steal for. The man, who, in some way, shape, or form was savable. I knew he was. He had to be. I opened my eyes and met Jillian's.How much do you love him?"Enough. More than enough."
She sighed and set down her coffee cup. "I certainly hope so."
Chapter 46
Lee was drunk. When he stepped, he stumbled. When he leaned on the bar, his arm slid to one side. I glared at the bartender, the same asshole from a year and a half ago and asked for a bottled water. I got a dirty glass that he filled from the drink gun. I slid the glass back and second-guessed my decision to drive out to this part of town, this late at night. On my prior visit here, it had been the middle of the day. The bar had seemed harmless and cozy then, but at night it was filled with a different crowd that was jittery with stimuli and itching to cause trouble.
I sat on the stool beside him, in arm’s reach in case he fell over. "What happened?" I pulled at his chin, trying to get a better look at his busted lip and swelling jaw. He’d called me from the bar’s phone—drunk and needing a ride, but I hadn’t expected blood.
"Asshole homeowner. Said I left last week with only half the grass cut."
"Did you?" The sharp look he gave me answered the question. I raised my hands. "Sorry." I glanced over for the bartender and tried to get his attention over the loud din of the bar. “Some ice!” I yelled as soon as he looked my way.
I got a few handfuls, dumped in the bottom of a plastic bag. Twisting the top, I pressed the makeshift icepack gently against his lip. "How did that lead to this?"
"The dickhead threatened not to pay." He shrugged. "So I punched him."
Wow, the immaturity level behind the decision. “What? Why didn't you just walk away?"
He pushed my hand away and worked his jaw from side to side. He glared at me as if I was the stupid one. "I need work. Need cash." He tried to reach for a beer that was no longer there and barked out an order for another. "From someone who's never worked a day in her life, I wouldn't expect you to understand."
Never worked a day in her life.It was true, but I didn’t like the way he sneered it, as if my lack of a day job made me less of a person. It was something Brant had never referenced, and I suddenly wondered if it was something he thought. Emotions and feelings often got hidden. Pushed down until they found another outlet to creep back up into.
I shifted the ice to a better position on his lip and his eyes flared as the cold compress hit the open cut.
